Insanity
by hichigomate
Summary: The insanity of it all bore down on him every day. There was no way to escape it. But did he really want to? Epilogue added!
1. Part 1

**Disclaimer: Hey, boys and girls! Sorry I deleted my other fanfic, but I just wasn't feeling it any more. But here's a lovely oneshot for ya, I personally loved it! I seriously had an obsession to write it; not even kidding. Anyway, enjoy Insanity!**

INSANITY 

The insaneness of it all bore down on him every day. Every minute of every day. Every second of every minute of ever day. Why would no one see that it was killing him? Why would they just stand there, smiling their fake smiles, as his world crashed around him?

He didn't understand it. He couldn't understand it. Ever since his mother had died, when he was 4, everything had begun to fall apart.

At first it started with mere whispers. Soft nothings that came to him in the night, when nothing else was there.

Then the nothings turned to words. Harsh words that grated his every nerve, drove him to shouting in his seemingly empty mind.

At the age of 11, he began to hallucinate. Another person, the inverted image of himself, would appear, speaking in that distorted voice that urged him to cause pain. It urged him to cause pain to himself, to those around him.

The family noticed the changes, how he jumped at every sound, how he shook his head and said "Stop talking to me!" when no one was around him.

But they couldn't help him. They couldn't stop the voice of insanity that urged him to wreck the world around him as his was being wrecked.

Years went by after the hallucinations began. It was his seventeenth birthday. That other him, whom he merely called Akuji, for the destruction he called, was with him every second of every minute of every day.

That insanity that his voice caused called to him, beckoned him with every passing second. He was getting closer; he knew it, getting closer to that end that Akuji spoke of every day.

He had to find a way to let the insanity out, before it consumed him. He wasn't ready to give in just yet.

So, on that night, the night of his seventeenth birthday, he crept into the kitchen of his family's clinic, selecting with great care the sharpest kitchen knife he could find.

It was perfect; it felt so right in his tan hands.

Slipping back into his room, he sat on the bed, ignoring Akuji, who, for once, was silent as he watched.

At first, he didn't feel anything as he drew the knife along the curve of his arm, a few inches above his wrist. It merely tickled.

Annoyed, he drew the knife along his skin again, harder, watching as a thick line of dark blood rose up. It burned, but it was a good burn; he actually felt happy.

Beside him, Akuji leaned down and licked a drop of the blood, smiling an insane smile.

The whispers of insanity, of the urge to cause pain, disappeared for a while. He went about his normal days, ignoring those around him. Ignoring his counterpart who followed him daily, but was curiously silent.

Then the whispers started again. A few weeks had passed; his cut had healed to a thin scar. But this time, the whispers were different.

They demanded he cut himself again; they demanded he show his blood for that insanity.

To escape them, he did as they commanded. Bringing that same knife up to his room, he proceeded with another cut, just a few centimeters above the old one. But he wasn't satisfied; it hadn't hurt, like he wanted it to.

Akuji wasn't satisfied either. He demanded another, and another. And only after he'd watched him make those three cuts did he command him to stop, did he take the knife and lean down to lick each cut.

It was enough for now; it had to be.

His family pretended not to notice the bandage wrapped around his arm the next day; his sister Yuzu didn't comment on the missing knife. They couldn't.

This time the whispers came sooner. Not even four days had passed this time. Akuji was with him in school, whispering frantically in his ear. He wanted the blood; he needed it. It felt like he was experiencing withdrawal; he had to get out.

No one noticed him slipping out of the classroom, running as fast as he could to get home.

He slammed into his room and took the knife from under his mattress; he made frantic slashes at his arm, in various places.

He wasn't careful; he drew deeply. He needed this, like he needed air. Each slash was like drawing in air after having been denied for the longest time. It was a relief so deep he nearly passed out.

Akuji was the one who once again made him stop, who licked him clean when it was over. Akuji was the one who hid the knife, who bandaged him and slipped him into bed. Akuji was the one who once again began his whispers of insanity, urging him on before he slept to begin once again the minute he woke up.

It would never end, and he knew that.

Days passed, and turned into months. His arms were masses of scars, old and new. He'd started on his legs, having run out of room on his arms. He relished being alone, being able to inflict those cuts on him that felt like sweet release. He needed the pain, the same way his other half needed his blood.

It was insanity, and it felt good.

That was, until the insanity changed once again.

Akuji called for more this time; he wanted it all. He wanted every drop of blood he could get. He whispered for a bigger knife, for deeper cuts, watched in sick fascination as his tan half drew the knife in a long cut along his leg, following it with his tongue.

But it wasn't enough; it was never enough.

This time Akuji guided the hand, drawing it in long, sweeping cuts along his chest, along his neck. He needed, he wanted, and he took.

He didn't mind, though; he let Akuji have his fun. It was what he wanted, needed, as well. He wouldn't deny Akuji what he'd already denied him for so long.

He didn't protest when Akuji suddenly drove the knife deep into his side, pulling it out to suck up the blood pouring out. He didn't feel the pain, couldn't feel it.

He weakly helped Akuji with the next thrust, this time on his shoulder. He arched up, feeling his eyes burn, but nothing came out of them; all of his body's fluids were escaping him from below.

He could only watch, in happiness, in joy, in pleasure, as Akuji drove the knife into him one more time, this time over his heart.

It felt amazing, better than sex.

He felt himself getting cold, his limbs heavy, and his vision darkening. Yet still he watched as Akuji happily lapped up his blood like a cat, licking the knife clean.

He heard, one last time, that awful, distorted voice speaking to him.

"You're mine, now, King. And this time, you'll never escape me; we'll both be dead together."

Yet he couldn't hear him; he was already dead.

**So, what'd you think? Really dark, I know. And so graphic! Sorry, I really wanted Ichigo to have something like schizo, or depression. That's what Hichigo does to him. Yes, Akuji is Hichigo. Anyway, what did you think? Please review!!! Pretty please??? (I'm sorry for killing Ichigo and making Hichigo so weird, but it had to be done)**

**hichigomate**


	2. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: Well, I had a few people ask for a sequel, so here it is! Hope y'all like it! It's just reactions, funeral, mystery and such. Anyway, same as first chapter.**

**Insanity**

**Part 2**

The gentle patter of footsteps seemed loud in the unusual quiet of the clinic. Isshin noticed this the minute he entered his household, and looked around. Karin wasn't at home; she was staying over at a friend's house. But Yuzu was in the kitchen, cooking for the family that never seemed to have time to eat together.

But Ichigo wasn't anywhere to be found; he was probably up in his room, as usual.

Isshin sighed and plopped himself down on the sofa, sniffing the air appreciatively.

A scent reached him, one he recognized almost instantly after working in a clinic for most of his life. It was metallic, salty some might even say. It was something he'd smelled nearly every day, from the smallest cut to the largest lacerations on a body.

Blood. The body's most vital liquid.

It was stronger, though, than it should be; he smelled more than he should, as if a body had been drained of blood and left in the sun too long. It was something he'd never expected to find in his own home, after all his patients had gone home.

Isshin stood, uncertain, before glancing over at Yuzu. She didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. Shrugging, he turned and walked into the hallway, slowly making his way up the stairs. The smell of blood only grew stronger the farther he walked up, and seemed to be originating from his son's room.

Unsure of what to expect, fearing the worst, Isshin tried the door, only to find it locked. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the house keys he always kept with him, and unlocked the door.

Slowly, he opened the door.

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Yuzu jerked when she heard her father let out a shout, and quickly put down the bowl of frosting she was stirring, rushing up stairs as fast as her short legs would carry her.

She found her father standing in the doorway to her older brother's room, a hand held to his mouth.

"Dad, what's wrong? Is something the matter with Ichigo?" She asked, stepping foreward to glance around her father.

Isshin moved then; faster than she could fathom, he pulled her away, holding a hand over her eyes.

"Don't look. Go downstairs and call the police. Now."

Yuzu gulped; her father sounded anguished, strained. Giving him one last look, she nodded, and rushed downstairs at a slightly slower pace than she'd rushed up.

Isshin sighed heavily, before turning back to his eldest child's room. The sight was ghastly; it repulsed him to the highest level.

Ichigo was spread out on the bed, a bloody knife next to him. Blood covered his body, his clothes, his bedspread, and even pooled on his floor. There seemed to be too much, as if not all of it came from his body. It was even darker than it should be, almost black.

And the smell was horrible. Isshin gagged, holding a hand to his mouth once again. It was more than just metallic; it smelled as if Ichigo's body had been left out since morning, left to rot in the heat for the past 14 hours. Yet, at the same time, there was the underlying scent of crysanthynms, as if someone else had been in the room with him; a girl.

But that didn't seem right. No one had entered this room since Ichigo had locked it; the fact that it remained locked was proof of that.

Snapping out of his thoughts at a slight groan, Isshin rushed over to Ichigo, thinking that he had made the sound. Immediately he checked for a pulse, yet found none. Not that he had expected one.

But then, who had made that sound?

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Yuzu sat crying on the sofa, her head pillowed on Karin's shoulder. Both were shocked, to say the least, at their father's news.

"Karin! Ichigo...Ichigo...he-" Yuzu couldn't continue; she was overcome with sobs.

Karin didn't say anything; she had nothing to say. She'd noticed a change in her brother a while ago, and yet she couldn't do anything about it. Or, more precisely, she was too wrapped up in her own life to worry about her brother's.

"I'm sorry, Karin, Yuzu. I don't know how this could have happened. He looked like he...was stabbed. Yuzu, when did the detective say he could come?"

Yuzu rubbed her eyes and glanced up at her father, nodding as she tried to clear her head of grief. "In about half an hour, maybe. He wants to question the family, seperately, since the police are handling the rest."

Isshin nodded; he wasn't surprised. He'd expected no less, since he'd dealt with police a lot in his line of work. But right now, he had time to just sit with his family, wishing that he could start this day over, maybe save his son from this twisted fate.

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Detective Urahara glanced at the frail girl sitting in front of him, wishing for the first time that he didn't have to question the families on the day of the deaths. But he had to do it, and decided to get the worst of it done first.

"Tell me, Miss Kurosaki, did you ever notice anything...strange about your brother? Maybe, a different way he acted, a sudden change in personality?"

Yuzu glanced up, a hand to her mouth as she withheld tears that she knew were forming once again, before she nodded. "Yes. I think. But it was years ago. He started talking to himself, well, yelling, really. We'd be sitting quietly, when all the sudden he'd yell out. It scared me, but after a while, it became normal. And, he stopped, later on."

Detective Urahara nodded, and motioned for her to continue. She did, after a moments hesitation.

"Well, I began to notice a knife would go missing from the kitchen, since I'm the one who cooks. I thought maybe I'd misplaced it, because it would always show up again the next day. But, then the knife disappeared permanently. I haven't seen it since last year."

Detective Urahara nodded once again, and rummaged around in the box he'd placed on the table. Bringing out a clear bad, he held it up, asking,

"Is this the knife that went missing?"

Yuzu looked at it, and was unable to hold back her tears this time. She nodded as she began to sob, and the detective decided it was time to talk to the rest of the family. Karin was next.

"Now, Karin, I'm going to ask you the same thing I asked your sister. When did you first notice a change in your older brother, Ichigo?"

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Detective Urahara sighed; it'd been a long night's work. He'd talked to the family, and the friends of Ichigo Kurosaki, only to learn very little.

Apparently, Ichigo had begun to show signs of a changed personality many years ago, not long after the unprecidented death of his mother. It had progressed, then disappeared suddenly, when they had begun to notice the small nicks appearing on his body.

It was obvious that he'd been mentally unstable, and yet no one had been able to help him. It was just another sad, high school teenager story, with an overly-sensitive boy who was unable to bear life's struggles and killed himself.

It seemed, though, that if even one person had befriended him, if just one person had been able to reach him, he might not have killed himself.

To Detective Urahara, it was a sad story, one he heard everyday, and yet always unsettled him. He wished people paid more attention to those around him, as he'd been trained to do. But, there was nothing he could do about it now; the boy was already dead.

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The funeral of Ichigo Kurosaki was attended by few; it was, after all, a private affair. Only his family came, and his friends. Even Detective Urahara showed up, his sympathy on his face for everyone to see.

Yet, there was someone who showed up to see Ichigo as he laid in his coffin, to watch as his cold, tan yet pale body was lowed beneath the dirt and covered as the preacher spoke in a formal voice,

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."

This pale, dark figure stood among the humans, yet no one saw him; he seemed to be invisible. He stood, his white coat billowing about him in a non-existant voice that surrounded him. His voice, detached and yet so full of emotion, carried on the wind, reaching everywhere and nowhere.

"Ichigo, why? Why would you do such a thing? Could you not have waited? Did you have...break our promise to each other?"

A single pearl tear fell from cerulean eyes, a tear which gloved hands refused to brush away.

Just this once, he'd show emotion. Just this once, for the one he'd loved, yet left him all alone, he'd remove his emotional facade.

**Well, what'd you think? I really don't like this as much as the first chapter, and I suppose I might have wanted it longer; not an obsession as with the first one. But I guess it turned okay...maybe. Can you guess who my mysterious guest is??? Review please! You know you want to!**

**:::hichigomate:::**


	3. Tying Up Loose Ends

**Disclaimer: Well, people asked me for something more, so here it is. Um, it's just more of an answer to the last part, and tying up loose ends. Enjoy!**

**Insanity**

**And After All That...**

The sound of a high-pitched squeal greeted him as he stepped inside the large mansion that belonged to his family, a sound he relished every time he heard it. His twin children, Annabelle Rosaline and Ichigo Kitsune, were happily playing in the nursery he'd had constructed for them a few years ago, while their mother waited for him to return home from patrol.

Knowing his wife already sensed him, he made his way to the nursery, where his children shouted and jumped up to greet him. Both grabbed onto each of his legs; he rewarded them with a gentle pat on the head.

Annabelle Rosaline, or Anna Rose for short, was the picture of her mother; long, straight, beautiful orange-colored hair framed an angelic face; but she had his eyes, a deep, cerulean blue that seemed to see far more than he'd have liked.

He graced her with a smile, before turning to his four-year old son. Ichigo Kitsune (pronounced kit-sune-ay, for my own purposes) was the exact image of the man he'd once loved, complete with that messy orange mop of hair and almost golden-brown eyes. He graced Ichigo Kistune with a smile as well.

Both were up to his waist, tall for their age, as seemed to run in their family. Picking up both children at the same time, setting them on the couch where they'd been playing earlier.

"Alright, you two, where's your mother?" He asked softly, and both pointed towards the kitchen.

He heaved a sigh, unafraid to show emotion around his kids, before he followed his nose to the obscene scents coming from the house's large kitchen.

The sight that greeted him had his mouth instantly watering. His wife, the very picture of lovliness, was standing in front of the stove, her bright orange hair pulled up in a neat clip as she stirred some unknown substance in a pan. She wore a simple black robe, with her two flower clips glinting in the light at her temples.

"I thought we hired a cook to do this."

She gasped and turned around, her warm, chocolate eyes growing wide in excitement.

"Byakuya! You're home! Oh, my gosh! I'm so happy!" She rushed foreword, straight into his arms, clinging desperately.

"Yes, Orihime, I'm finally home. With you, Anna Rose, and Ichigo Kistune. Home with the three I love." He whispered against her neck, feeling the peace that he'd been granted years before, after that fateful encounter not long after his first love's funeral.

He and Orihime had run into each other battling a Hollow, both still grieving at the loss of the first Ichigo, and, instead of ignring him, Orihime had run to him to pour out the feelings for him she'd kept hidden for everyone else's sake.

He'd taken a while, but he'd accepted them, and they'd been married in the Seiretei. (gosh, that's not spelled right) A year later, Orihime had given birth to their twins, Anna Rose, and the reincarnation of the first Ichigo, Ichigo Kistune.

He wouldn't change anything in his life anymore, even if it meant getting his first love back. He was happy as a father...as a husband. All was as it was meant to be. He, Byakuya Kuchiki, was with his family, Orihime, Anna Rose, and Ichigo Kitsune.

**Well, I had a couple requests for something more, so here it is; really nothing to do with Ichigo as much anymore. But you learn he's not really gone, right? Anyway, I've never seen a ByakHime, and I was trying to figure out who Byakuya should end up with, so that's what I chose! And if you wonder at the name "Anna Rose" check out Vienne Teng's song, Anna Rose. It's beautiful. And Ichigo Kitsune because Ichigo reminds me of a fox! Teehee! But anyway, please review and tell me what you think! I know it's short; sue me.**

**hichigomate**


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